Insignificant
by Mad Mogg
Summary: Some periods of time are clear and memorable, others are more vague and nonsensical.


**Recipient:** **typhonas**  
**Title:** Insignificant  
**Characters/Pairing(s):** Alex  
**Summary:** Some periods of time are clear and memorable, others are more vague and nonsensical.  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** All Alex Rider characters herein are the property of Anthony Horowitz and the Penguin Group. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Warning(s):** Language  
**Word Count:** ~1,600  
Author's notes: Written for Spyfest 2010, much thanks to **annephoenix** and **arithilim**.

**Insignificant**

Alex opened his eyes blearily, rubbing one with his hand and using the other to push himself into sitting position. A quick scan of the box-like room told him he was in foreign territory. Cursing and trying to ignore the twinge he forced himself to his free his now plastered ankle. Hindered only slightly by the black cloud which swarmed his vision momentarily he stumbled a few steps towards the wooden door.

It was then he noticed the man who had apparently entered the room

"You are awake." It was not a question. Alex met the icy blue eyes with a glare which followed the tall, slight male as he gracefully strode the dozen or so paces across the room and back with something akin to a smile sneaking its way onto his face.

"Why are you here?" Alex hissed through clenched teeth.

"Perhaps, a better question might be why are _you_ here?" came the quick, enunciated reply, then, greeted by a deepened glare, "Well, well, has the great Alex Rider got nothing to say?"

"Or maybe, the great Alex Rider wouldn't want to waste his breath on the likes of you?" He was received by a neither warm nor cold laugh.

"Snarky, snarky. This is adult's business, it's not for little boys."

"I don't want to do it," Alex said, trying not to sound bitter

"I told you to stay away," he continued, as though he hadn't heard.

"You're meant to be dead."

"Another thing I have told you; many people have tried to kill me, this is just another failure."

"How unfortunate," Alex said in a monotone.

"How would you like some lunch?" The man changed the topic, seeming as though he was bored, rather than uncomfortable, with the topic.

The food was hardly fancy, but at least it was edible, Alex thought over his buttered toast. It was no art piece but if nothing else it was warm. He wasn't decided over whether or not he should like to stay here, but he suspected he had- at some point- been fed sleeping pills, rather than painkillers, because he felt as though he might drop off at any given moment. However, he doubted that was much of a concern because Yassen had never tried to kill him before and even if this was all a set up, he didn't feel as though he cared. Perhaps, if he had been in a more stable state of mind, he would have been suspicious over his negligence of the subject matter.

After a rather drowsy meal, Yassen allowed Alex to hobble back up to bed. So paying little attention to the clean hallway, barely noticing the many paintings hung upon the walls, their frames bearing no script, although each was undoubtedly a different man from the one before him he slowly made his way back up the stairs.

By the time he arrived in his room, he could scarcely recall that which he had paid mind to, much less differentiate between that which he had and had not. Little more than a blink seemed to be the only action taken, and even then it could be attributed to other matters. He threw back the beige covers, and climbed into bed, from which he would not arise until long after sunset. Mere moments after his eyes flickered shut that he fell into a deep drug-induced sleep.

The next few days past slowly, the days turning into weeks by which time his cast was removed. He grew something akin to trust in regards to the assassin, though each day he worried over how Jack felt, he knew she would be pleased that he had been kept away from MI6 long enough for a proper recovery. It seemed Yassen had a vast collection of books, and whilst they might not help him pass his GCSEs, he supposed some practice was better than nothing. When he had discovered Yassen's books did not all revolve around killing he had initially been surprised, only to later realise the idiocy in the thought. After all, his own books hardly revolved around spying- although he did own a fair few which Ian had given to him on various birthdays. Yassen had fictions and non-fictions in more languages than Alex could speak.

He probably should have been angry, or at the very least suspicious of the man, having been drugged for some time. But by the time the quantity had been reduced until he was taking nothing at all, there seemed little point. If he was to succeed he would risk being sent out on another mission, here he could rest. Perhaps until the MI6 believed him dead, he wasn't entirely sure that it would work. But if nothing else he saw little point in riling the man, he knew of no way out of here given that the place was probably barren by this point in time, or at least void of anyone who might aid him. This place was good for planning what he would do next and as he did so he grew to appreciate the man's sense of humour and came to realise that Yassen was not always as cold as he appeared. On occasion he found himself wondering whether his late uncle had seemed like an icy mask to those he worked with, or whether he had been the cheerful, if somewhat reclusive man he had known.

Nothing particularly significant happened on any individual day, until one morning when he awoke to find not only Yassen returned- for he occasionally disappeared at night, not seeming to need very much sleep, preferring coffee as an alternative- but other voices could also be heard. Straining his ears, he crept out of the room following the sounds to the sitting room. As he drew closer he recognised some of the voices; Ben Daniels- or Fox as Alex had first known him- was currently speaking and could be heard discussing where they were located, somewhere in France, Alex discovered.

It seemed as though the previous absences of Yassen had been for meeting them, as there seemed to be little malice in the tone. Although, once he was close enough to see them he noticed the prominent glare of Wolf. It seemed that whilst MI6 had sent help, they had done so in a humiliating form. If Alex had been given the chance he would never have seen them again.

The room was large enough not to be cluttered, but the men who were- in the case of Fox and Snake- lounging on their chairs, or keeping their posture as though they had poles stuck up their backsides. There was an awkward air about the place, as much as Yassen seemed to be ignoring it; he wasn't foolish enough to imagine that Yassen was unaware of his presence.

Sure enough, some minutes later in a casual pause in conversation, he said "Alex, come in," his manner almost welcoming.

The remaining occupants of the room jumped, although in their various ways and timings they recomposed themselves.

"Hello, Alex," Ben said in a warm tone

"Cub," Wolf grunted slightly, in recognition, Snake- whom he remembered by his blond hair- and Eagle, whom he knew despite the lack of distinctive features- save his eternally grumpy facial expression - simply by process of elimination.

"Hello," Alex replied, watching them with a calculating expression.

"Don't worry, we won't be staying for long," Eagle informed him in a snappish tone.

"Eagle, we'd be dead if it wasn't for Gregorovich here, the least we can do is stay and thank him," Snake replied in a reasonable tone of voice, his mild Scottish accent making it sound all the softer.

"I think we've out stayed our fucking welcome as it is, we can thank him by getting off his premises," Eagle growled, his distaste outlined by the lines on his face.

"Oh, I have plenty of room, your staying isn't a bother," Alex suspected this sudden display of hospitality might have been prompted by the distaste of Eagle, rather than any actual want for their company.

"See, we can stay," Snake told the other man, his tone indicating the end of this discussion.

Alex was surprised to hear the quiet man take control in such a manner, given that Wolf had always seemed to have the upper hand at the Beacons. His shock was slightly reduced when he noticed both men glance at the Latino.

The conversation continued until lunch time, a few hours later, when they ate pasta with butter, it seemed that Yassen had yet to make a trip to the supermarket; if Alex had only eaten food as plain as this for the past weeks he might have gone spare, or at least become ill from the lack of nutrients.

"The meal is wonderful," Wolf informed Yassen, sarcasm lacing his tone.

"Thank-you, I only serve as much as you deserve," came the sharp reply.

Eagle sent a look of contempt towards the assassin, although he kept his mouth tightly shut. The moments after were filled with an awkward silence, as no one seemed to want to place themselves into a position in which the blame for any disagreement might be placed onto them. Compliments to the meal could not be paid without it seeming as though they were either condemning the slight- and no-one argued with Wolf without causing an uproar- or adding to it.

Further conversation seemed to be somewhat more polite although Alex followed little of it, and what he did understand told him little added nothing to explain why they were all in the same room together. The reason for this was that the world seemed to be fading away, the blackness swarming his vision again until finally he saw nothing more.

**The End**


End file.
